


The baby of the blue

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Endless fluff, Fluff, M/M, lots of fluff, lots of love, the hulk going all mother gorilla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mystery is, how the hell did Loki, god of lies, mischief and mayhem turn magically into a five year old kid who keeps asking for his papa and has a weird yet emdearing attachment to the hulk.<br/>The problem is nobody has any idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The child screamed, holding his hands above his head as if to protect himself. Perhaps had it happened slower they might of paused to think about their actions.  
But it didn't.  
It happened fast. A shriek of light, a flash of blue and it was done. A proud, half broken man gone, mistaken for one of his tricks, a child. Panic overcame the boy. Terror teeming on his face, forcing tears from his eyes. Thor arrived there first, his mind, as always, working slower than his fists. He pounced and the child screamed again. His small breaths gasping and wheezing, fear constricting his lungs. Too panicked or too scared to protect himself like he had been taught, he could only think to crouch and scream. His brother, why was his brother so old? Why was he swinging mjölnir at him? Where was he?  
None of it made any sense! So he cried and wailed.  
Thor charged at him and he squeezed his eyes closed behind his fingers and screamed again. He braced for the impact, for the betrayal he didn't understand and could barely fathom. He wondered if his bones would shatter. Then there was a sickening thump. It echoed through the air, all the ears hearing it and tensing at its sound. The child's wails dampened to a whimper, his little arms held over his head, crouching like he was trying to become as small as possible, smaller than he always was. He whole form shook with terror and confusion, yet he never looked up as though he feared what he might see, not even at the sound of the thump. He must of supposed that it had come from him.  
For a second all was silent. Only the rapid breathing of confusion and panic filling the large space. And then a single gentle movement was made, the first of many. A slight tap upon the boy's quivering shoulder. The child flinched back, tripping over his own heels, eyes wide and terrified. He looked up at the monster before him, even more scared than before.  
"Blue child" the monster cooed. It's humongous moss green form ridged as if it feared that the child would be as scared of him as the rest of the world. Green eyes flickered down to his hand, looking over its blue shade. It didn't quite bother him, perhaps he was too young and he was so very, very young. He didn't know anything, but perhaps he knew that kin was safe, as everyone else he could see had the same coloured skin except him and the monster. In his little mind it just made sense, it meant that he and the monster were kin. And kin, kin was safe. Though he was was unsure.  
"Hey! You little piece of shit! You aren't going to fool us!" A voice yelled. An arrow flew past his ear and he panicked. Kin equals safe. Monster equals kin. It was far as his mind dare venture. He launched himself at the monster, sobbing grossly. He clung fearfully to a green torso and closed his eyes, not wanting to be where he apparently was. The monster cooed dumbly to him. Patting his back and holding him just tight enough for it to be comforting. The child sobbed at the hash yells that filled the atmosphere, little hands balled to fists, tears wetting skin made of moss. He felt a roar of high volume shudder out of the monster and all the shouting stopped. The monster sounded like papa when he talked with the elves. The child wailed louder. The monster cooed to him, and his sobbing became only harsh hiccups.  
"Blue child" he said quietly, patting the boys back and rubbing his square jaw into the boy's black hair. The monster seemed to seat himself, the child still sitting in his arms, refusing to remove his face from the monster's chest. He heard the sound of footsteps and the monster growled.  
"Hey, big guy" said a nervous male voice. The child didn't look up to see, he only buried himself deeper into green flesh. "Look, I love the whole mother gorilla thing you've got going on, but I'm just going to take the kid off your hands, okay?" It didn't sound like a question. Someone touched his shoulder lightly as if to gesture to him and he screamed, though it bubbled down in to soft panicked whimpers as quickly as it had arisen. The monster roared at whoever it was and turned away. The child sobbed loudly, confusion and panic marking his every sound. Suddenly something pierced his shoulder and he gasped. He felt it get ripped out of his skin, but already he could feel something leaking into his blood stream, as if it was drawing out his panic he slumped. He felt himself get lowered, the back of his head resting on a great bicep, his limbs limp and weak. He looked up dazedly at the green face that was contorted with anger and worry. A large finger poked his stomach and he giggled dazedly. He eyes slipped closed and the monster made worried grunting noises as if in sympathy at his sleepiness.  
The world disappeared into a black backdrop, voices and roars and being clutched like a rag doll. Thor was somewhere amongst the mess of yelling and arguments, but the child couldn't figure out where. It was just a mess. A mess that he had somehow became submerged in. 

The chemicals hung lightly in the air, slowly circulating around the room. He hadn't the faintest clue where he was and that, that panicked him. He hadn't opened his eyes as yet, and he didn't plan to. For as long as he could remember, opening his eyes had lead to discovering something that neither wanted to be discovered nor warmed his heart when he did. He didn't make any movement, at least nothing noticeable. Though his body tensed, curling itself into a tight ball, his eyes squeezing closed. He knew, on some level, that no matter how much he wished it to be so he wasn't where he last remembered being. The monster had been real, he knew, Thor had been real. It was all real. None of it simply a nightmare. If it was a nightmare he would be back in his bed, he would be able to crawl away and find Thor or his mother. He would be safe, but he wasn't.  
He balled his hand into a fist, bordering on panic once again. The feeling of weak wire poked into his hand where he hadn't noticed it before. Hair.  
"Papa?" He wheezed, it was quite a good deduction, at least in his own mind. The hair didn't feel like it hair from a head, and therefore it was hair from a chest. Papa had hair on his chest, he sometimes let him play with it when he carried the child to bed. So maybe it was papa.  
"I'm sorry" a voice apologised. It was deep and nervous and rumbled from the chest with the hair. It wasn't papa's though. The child's heart spiked in fear. "But we'll get you back to your papa as soon as we can" the voice was gentle though worried, it sounded like it didn't quite know how to get there, but at least the destination was known. The child raised his head, green eyes opening, his face filled with distress. A blanket had been draped over his shoulders and a towel over the man's lower region, presumably to protect his modesty. His knees were curled beneath him, digging probably uncomfortably into the man's ribs. His little black head had been resting on the man's chest and his hand was still clinging to the his chest hairs. Grey, melancholy eyes looked at him and he looked back.  
"Who are you?" He asked meekly, his voice almost too quiet to hear. Though the man did hear it, he smiled, somewhat uncomfortably.  
"My name is Bruce" the man was well built, strong and far bigger than him. His mother had warned him of well built men that he didn't know. When he and Thor went to the market together, she always warned them of who they trusted.  
"My name is Loki" his voice was shaky and fearful, but the man smiled again anyway. Loki almost smiled back. Probably noticing his wide eyes and man weakly rubbed his shoulders, making the occasional cooing sound that sounded all too familiar. The child relaxed a little, though he still flinched every time he heard a sudden sound off int the background.  
"Well, Loki, would you mind getting me a glass of water?" The man tilted his head a little, gesturing in the general direction of a space that vaguely resembled a kitchen from home. "Er… y-yes? I mean… yes! O-Of course" the child scrambled up, a mess of flying limbs and half contained confusion. He slipped almost instantly on a piece of the floor. When he regained his balance he looked about, curiosity overwhelming his fear. It seemed that he and the man had been sleeping in a crater, the floor compressed and crumpled beneath them. The place where something larger and heavier had once been. Oh. So the man was a shapeshifter, that made sense. No wonder he wanted some water, whenever Loki shapeshifted he was always hungry. And thirsty. And tired.  
"There's a tap over there" the man said. His voice was still deep and echoy, but weak nonetheless. Loki nodded determinedly and darted forward. He didn't know what was going on. He didn't know where he was. But he knew, at least, that the man was kind and his kin and that meant that he would get the water for him.  
He stumbled towards the kitchen. The bench looked like the marble from the throne room, but paler. He didn't like it. The child reached up, one tiny hand gripping the thick slab the other groping for the glass. He carried it carefully over to the tin thing. They had a contraption like this on Asgard. A pump of a sort. He tried to reach up, to balance on his tippy toes. He managed to just peek over the rim of the marble. He somehow handled getting the glass in the sink, but then the pump head looked so far away. He hooked his elbow over the marble and ignored the fact that it was digging into his arm. He flapped his hand meekly and felt his fingertips slip past metal like papa's sword. He drew back for a second before trying again. He couldn't give up. He didn't know who he was, but the man was his friend and had taken care if him. He could get him a cup of water. He stretched farther, trying hard not to feel the pain in his armpit. He grunted uncomfortable, but then the cup was taken from him by a steel metal hand. He gasped as he felt a warm presence behind him. He watched in shock as another, more fleshy hand turned on the pump and clear water gushed out. Slowly he turned his chin upwards, casting his eyes back, the top his head coming to rest on someone's abdomen. He saw a face with eyes cast down. It might of been a cute face at one point, but something must of happened to it's owner to make it so bleak. It might of been cold at some point, but now it was just careful, indifferent perhaps.  
"Who are you?" Loki whispered. The child barely came up to the man's waist. A brown eye was cast down towards him. And he saw two personalities. Too people, trapped in a single body. One light and the other draped in darkness and self loathing. Loki blinked at him as the man took a step back, the glass in his metal hand.  
"Who are you?" The man returned, slightly glaring, though not threateningly. Loki nodded as if he was simply accepting the answer.  
"Do you have any cookies?" He whispered up to the man, who raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Loki bit his lip, wondering what to do next. The man seemed to sense, his growing unease and his dark eyes flickered to the man still lying in the crater, though now he was sleeping.  
"Why don't you take the water to Brucey and I'll find some cookies for him, okay?" The man gave the child the glass of water, with gentle ease and tousled black hair with steel. Loki nodded uncertainty and tried his best not to spill the water as he walked. He wondered if mama or papa had noticed he was gone. He wondered if Thor was alright, big Thor or little Thor, either way he wished to know.  
He was careful not to slide on the displaced pieces of floor, worrying that he would throw water all over the man if he slipped. He carefully set down the glass, trying to make sure that it was just far enough away so that he would knock it over if he moved his arms in his sleep, but he could still reach it when he woke. The man set down a few cookies next to the tall glass, his footsteps completely silent despite the broken floor.  
"Where are your clothes, kid?" The man asked his metal hand resting on Loki's head once again. The child looked up again and wondered why he had a metal arm in the first place. It worried him to some extent.  
"I don't know, I woke up like this" the child looked down at himself. He appeared to only be wearing a dark green tunic, something that a man might wear under his armour. It was far to big for him and only stopped below his knees. Well, at least it covered his decency. He didn't really care about that much though. The man's frown deepened. He crouched to eye level with the boy as if to inspect him.  
"Where are your parents?" His voice didn’t change, but something in his tone told him that the man was growing concerned. Loki almost sighed with relief. Maybe the man knew his parents. Maybe this was all just a prank. Yeah, maybe Thor was just playing a prank. But no, Thor wasn't smart enough and the only person with illusion magic this good was his mother and she didn’t like pranks. He bit his lip, looking at the ground.  
“I-I don’t know” it was all he could think to say. He didn't know where they were. He didn't know if he was safe. He didn't know if they were safe. He didn't even know if Thor was okay. His Thor. Not that other Thor, the one that swung his hammer at him. That wasn't his Thor. That was some other Thor.  
A bad Thor.  
He pressed his palms into his eyes and tried not to sob. Papa wouldn't sob, papa would come and get him and commend him for being strong. But it was so hard. It was so hard not to cry.  
He felt the man’s single fleshy hand land on his shoulder and he gave a hiccuping sob.  
“Jesus Christ, he’s stolen a kid” he heard the man murmur. The child gasped and his head shot up, wide green eyes looking at him in panic.  
“I’ve b-been s-stolen?” Distress covered his face and the man seemed to recognise his mistake. That didn’t, of course, stop Loki for becoming even more scared than he already was. He could feel his power brewing inside of him like it always did when he got upset.  
“No! Kid, you're fine, you're fine. We’ll get you back to your family I promise” Bucky rubbed his shoulder, not even flinching as blue began to seep into the child’s skin. Heck, that was probably why they stole him. He might of been new to the age, but he was fairly certain that it was always best not to steal kids, just as a personal rule of thumb.  
The boy sobbed loudly, his shoulders shaking, his whole being shaking. Bruce still slept soundly in his little bed of rubble. Bucky hadn't the faintest clue whether he was supposed to step forward and embrace the child or what so he just remained crouched, rubbing his shoulders and frowning. He didn't know how the kid had gotten here, or why he had turned blue, but he knew from personal experience that six years olds tend to cling to their mothers for dear life and this six year old obviously didn't know where his mum was. He must of felt abandoned, or just lost. He sympathised epically.  
Watery crimson eyes looked at him desperately.  
"Do you know where Thor is?" His voice was small and he reached out, gripping tightly onto his shirt, as if making sure that he was still there. The man's frown deepened.  
"You know Thor?" The boy nodded, looking adorably innocent and hopeful. "Well, uh, he has a pretty bad headache at the moment because the hulk hit him in the guts so maybe we could go see him, after we find your parents, kay?" The man smiled triumphantly at his own words, as if he was proud of himself for thinking rationally. The child blinked at him.  
"Bucky, have they woken up yet?" As soon as the blond, tall man came into the room Loki was seized with terror. This wasn't like the man with the metal arm. The metal arm man was a stranger, a clean slate, and he had proved himself safe so far, but the blond man was different. The blond man wanted to hurt him, he wanted to hurt him like the big Thor wanted to. He had been the one with the shield, the one who's face had been contorted with frustration.  
He yelped, tears still streaming down his face. His face was twisted into a mess of panic and panic. He hid instantly behind the man with he metal arm, clinging tightly to his shirt. It was simply a game of who was the least dangerous. He very much wanted to crawl back into the rubble and curl back up with the monster, but he figure that would be impolite so he only clung to the mean in hope that perhaps he would be protected. He squeezed his eyes closed as the man with the metal arm stood and turned towards the door.  
"Buck…y?" His voice was uncertain and trailing. Loki peered fearfully around the hip of the man. Eyes wide, staring at the the tall blond man. His hand was pressed into the front of the man's hipbone with the other still had his shirt clamped between his fingers. Green burned into sapphire and the man with the metal arm looked between them, taking in the child's terrified stare vs the captain's growing agitation.  
"Jesus Christ, you actually did steal him. Steve, you stole a kid! You can't just steal kids!" Bucky knew he looked horrified, heck, he was horrified. In his books kidnapping six year olds was a total no no. Unconsciously his metal arm wound around the thin boy's shoulders, who's face was the picture terror. "God, Steve, we have get him back to his parents! They must be frantic!" the boy began to quietly quiver under Steve glare. Going only on instinct Bucky swung down and hoisted the boy onto his hip, holding his arm under his legs. The boy began to openly sob into his collarbone, not caring in the slightest about the chill of steel under his hand. He sure was a little fella, as light as a feather no less.  
Steve spluttered, confused for a second.  
"You mean you believe this?!" Now they were both shouting and the child cried harder, panic seeping into his wails. "That kid is the god of lies who turned himself into a kid to get pity from us!" Steve was making these hand gestures that Bucky supposed were meant to strengthen his argument, but all they really did was making him look desperate and doubtful.  
"What is wrong with you!? He's four years old for gods sake! Look at him, he's terrified!" Said terrified four year old was weeping and shaking with fear by this point. Not knowing what to do Bucky only held him tighter, it didn't soothe him in the slightest. Steve's left nostril twitched, a sign they both knew meant he was agitated and confused.  
"You idiot, you don't even know who he is! He killed hundreds of people!" He didn't know what else to do so he just launched himself as the kid, ripping him away from Bucky's steel grip. Given that Bucky was probably the only one thinking clearly, unlike Steve, he figured he could grip onto child and hurt him or he could let go and only hope that the man he had kept alive for all those years before the war hadn't turned into a child kidnapping manic. So he let go.  
The child screamed at the top of his lung, legs and arms flailing and struggling uselessly. His crimson eyes glowed with panic and terror, like he couldn't breath or he was drowning.  
"Let me go!" He screamed. "Let me go! Lemme go!" His sentences decayed into sobs and wails. He was reaching out, arms waving for the man with the metal arm who only stood with an uncertain expression. The tall, blond man struggled with him, his superior strength pinning the child to his chest.  
"Steve" the voice was hard and cold and certain and they all stopped. Frozen ridged. The child whimpered in Steve's arms and Steve was probably in the process of mentally whimpering.  
"Bruce" he said quietly, like a child being caught doing something bad by the teacher.  
"Let him go, he's real. It isn't voluntary, he can't remember everything from the time he was this age. You're literally just terrifying a child who does not know where he is or who you are for no reason" his voice was more disapproving than cold this time, but still Steve was staring at him simply horrified.  
"How do you know?" His voice was questioning and trembling, as the child ceased his struggle in the tall, blond man's arms. He reached his small hands towards Bruce, recognising safety. The safety that the tall blond man didn't possess.  
"I asked Jarvis" his voice was steely cold, like bronze. Steve could sense the anger, the rage bubbling beneath the surface. Something ran through his head, a quote that he immediately dismissed.  
The monsters protect the monsters and that's why they always win.  
Bruce stepped forward and Steve's arms slumped, letting the child pry himself from his strong hold. He immediately clamped onto Bruce's torso.  
"Papa" he cried, weeping heavily and wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck. The man cooed soft words to him, patting his back and holding him as he needed to be held. There was nothing he knew better than the fear of not understanding.  
"I know, I know. We'll get you back to you your papa, I promise" Bruce soothingly rubbed his back. How strange they must of looked. A man with only a towel wrapped around his waist with a small blue child with horns clinging to him in tears to his chest. A man with a metal arm who looked very much winded and a man wearing the American flag.  
Bruce saw as Steve wavered, his uncertainty, his doubt.  
"Jarvis?" His voice could of disciplined lava to ice in seconds.  
"It is true" the voice in the celling stated. "Master Layfeyson's cells have de-aged. It is widely known that Mr Laufeyson is only capable of illusions, but he cannot fake his own DNA. I believe that he doesn't have any memory for the past 1750 years leaving him at the human age of 5.1".  
The boy's back immediately straightened in Bruce's arms, his neck turned back, in search for the figure to match to the voice. He blinked crimson eyes at the celling, the little cogs in his brain gong haywire.  
"House?" He asked.  
"Yes, Master Laufeyson?" The house responded, sounding almost bemused. Loki shook his head and seemed to decide that he would think about it later. He shook his head wearily, muttering something, before nestling back into the man's chest. He felt himself being carried away. The tall, blond, scary man being left in the kitchen while he looked at his hands with a fraught expression. The man with the metal arm followed them and Loki waved at him over the shoulder of the man named Bruce. The man with the metal arm waved solemnly in return. He seemed sad so Loki reached out to him and held his hand as they walked. Whenever he got upset Thor would hold his hand and he would feel better.  
He let himself be unclothed and dipped in hot water while hi snoozed on the man named Bruce's arm. At some point the man with the metal arm disappeared, but then another man came in and looked at him in surprise. He looked back at him with half open eyelids.  
"Papa?" He asked. The man had a small, well cut beard around his chin and his face was rough and filled with crevasses of his skin. He looked a little like papa, only shorter and less bulky. The man bathing him had introduced him as something starting with T that he instantly forgot. He stayed with them with a big fake smile. He told Loki jokes that he laughed weakly at. The man's voice was familiar in a rough, vague sort of way, but not unpleasant. He was pretty sure he fell asleep half way though a joke and offended him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked, then some more questions are asked and then Steve's an idiot.

Bucky walked slow and thoughtful, he didn’t quite know where he was a headed, and he could only hope that there was food there. It was a few hours since he had found Bruce passed out naked in his kitchen with a child tucked safely under his arm. To say he had been suspicious was an understatement. Still he had covered the man’s decency as best he could and had wandered off again.   
He wasn’t too fussed really.   
He hadn’t seen Steve since his less that helpful outburst that seemed to involve traumatising a five year old and he didn’t really want to. He had been informed of the situation by Bruce after a little while, about the battle of New York and the death and rebirth of Coulson. It seemed to make a little more sense that Steve would be sceptical about what child was. That didn’t mean, in any way, he thought that you should go grabbing children that obviously don’t have any malicious intentions. When you’re crying that much you don’t have a second mask. No matter how good you are at lying, not even if you’re the literal god of it could do that.   
He muttered something sour to himself. He was well aware that Steve probably felt terrible; god knows he felt terrible about everything else he did. Good or bad.  
The man with the metal arm stomped broodily into the main living room for everyone living on the level, which for some reason was just him and Bruce. He had figured he would be bunking with Steve when he agreed that he would live in the tower, but apparently he would be moving into the floor below. He had a hunch it had something to do with the industrial strength latches on the doors and the fact that he and Bruce were bad at controlling their emotions. It didn’t bother him that much; it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to leave.   
He leaned experimentally over the side of the couch, looking down at the two curled figures. He had asked Jarvis if there was anyone in their while he was in the corridor so it wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting them.   
He smiled softly.   
Bruce was lying with his head to the side and dribble was slowly falling from the corner of his mouth. He looked adorable in a grown up sort of way. The kid lay on his chest, playing with the loose threads of the larger man’s collar. At least this time he was fully clothed. The child still wore his green tunic, though his hair was damp and his blue skin warm with wetness. His red eyes glinted against the electric lights. In that moment he looked painfully sad.  
“Hey kid” He leant his elbows on the back of the sofa, and the child’s head turned to him. He was no longer scared, Bucky could tell. His eyes were wide with curiosity. “Your name is Loki isn’t it?” The boy nodded. “Well, Loki, has anyone told you what happened?” the boy shook his head, eyes sad again. Bucky frowned and reached down, picking up the child by his armpits. He walked a few steps over to the larger kitchen and set him down on the bench. “Well, why don’t I fix us some dinner and I’ll answer all your questions… if I can” Jarvis had informed him what had happened when Loki first changed from Mr to Master in Jarvis’ books. It a least explained why it hadn’t stopped raining since it had gotten back. No more was needed to be said on the matter of Thor’s mood.  
The child brightened at that, and the man with the metal arm didn’t know whether it was because of the prospect of food or information. He could only suppose it was both. He smiled and began to go through the fridge. Thank god Jarvis kept all the fridges stocked. Thank god for Jarvis in general.  
"Where am I?" The child's voice was small, but strong. Determined to find the answer for his question.   
"I believe you would call here Midgard or something like that. But it's changed a lot since you were last here. We call this region New York" the boy nodded, understanding.  
"Why is Thor so big?" His words became even smaller as the one person he recognised in this world was mentioned, even by his own tongue. Bucky tried a smile again, but he didn't get one in return.   
"This might come as a surprise to you, but the last time you were seen you were older. A lot older. They found you in Central Park surrounded in scorch marks. And by they, I mean the… protectors of this world, they make sure the people are safe, apparently there was a big flash in the sky when you showed up" the child was quiet for a long time, staring down at his smooth blue legs and little blue toes, thinking carefully about all he had been told. Older, he had been older. It was a difficult concept to grasp for a five year old brain. He bit his lip and shook his head. His hair was as long as the man with the metal arm's and he wished he could put it up in a pony tail like he had it, but he didn't know how, usually his mother did it.   
"Why did… why did older-Thor attack me?" His voice was feeble, like he already knew the answer and was just asking with a tiny amount of hope that he might be wrong. It was obvious that he had assumed the worst and, sure, the worst might of been the truth, but Bucky sure as hell didn't feel the need to tell the kid that his older brother and he weren't on good terms.  
"Oh, don't worry about that, kid" Bucky patted him on the back, the same way that he had seen Bruce do. "Thor just thought you were someone else. He didn't know that it was you. I'm sure you know how he's like more than anyone else" he saw the kid's shoulders slump in relief and he silently continued to cook, waiting for the child to get his shit together.  
"We need to talk about this" Tony slammed his hands down onto his marble bench in his penthouse, face firm and stern. Thor briefly looked up from where he was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. "I have a five year old super villain downstairs who keeps asking for his 'papa'." He made quotations in the air, beside his head. "I can't deal with this" his words were desperate and exaggerated.   
Steve sat in an arm chair staring worriedly at Thor. Apparently Tony had told him what he had done to Loki after being told by Bucky. It had taken Clint, Natasha and Tony in his suit to hold him back. Something told him that Thor had wanted to kill him simply for touching the child. In contrast he had gone up to Bruce and hugged him when he came in to say that Loki was sleeping on the sofa and he was clean at last. The embrace had been unexpected, but it seemed that Bruce had decided to humour him.   
"Thor?" He questioned gently.   
"What?" His voice was a growl, his face back in his hand, shoulders tense.   
"Why does Loki keep asking for his father? I thought that he and Odin had a bad relationship?" He tried to keep his gentle tone, as if he was talking to a protective mother elephant with a habit of charging. Thor looked up, resting his chin on his knuckles, his elbows on his knees. His face looked older, dwarfed by remembering and nostalgia.   
"At this age both I and Loki were very close with Odin. Our mother did all the socialising at the balls or parties and me and my brother clung to our father. The man that organised what you midgardians would call publicity said that it was cute. Though I do truly believe that he was very protective over us" he paused, considering his words very carefully. "Father was especially protective of Loki, I think it was because he was smaller and was prone to wandering off. My father was well aware that a lot people were very interested in the smallest of the crown prince. He was… vulnerable and father knew that" a small smile graced his lips.   
"Do you think we should contact him? Odin I mean" Clint, for sure, was the least impressed with the situation, but he did have some morals. If he didn’t Natasha probably wouldn’t be standing next to him and he’d also probably in jail somewhere. He also didn’t, in any way, like kids, especially ones that were continually turning blue when panicked, but, hell, he figured that if this was the stage at which Odin wasn’t that bad at patenting they might as well reunite a little boy and his papa. It seemed only proper.   
“No, I know that my father will not believe Loki for the child he has become. Long ago Odin decided that everything Loki did or said was just a piece of the puzzle in his master plan” Thor shook his head sadly, rightfully so.   
“Well, shit, what are we meant to do now? Start up a babysitting company for traumatised, alien, five-year-olds?” Tony’s words were scathing, but oddly fond. Apparently he and Loki had already become friends. Nobody was really sure that was a good thing or not.  
“Sirs and madam, I have a message for Mr Odinson” Thor looked up at the celling at the sudden arrival of Jarvis.   
“What is it J? ‘Cause you know I told you not to let anyone in” Tony took a sip of his scotch.   
“Master Laufeyson has requested the presence of Mr Odinson in the kitchen of Dr Banner and Mr Barnes’ floor” His words were stiff, and it was impossible to tell whether he approved or disapprove of the request.   
“Loki? He has awoken? Where is the healer Bruce?” Thor’s deep voice and mind had long grown accustomed to the voice in the celling, but he still didn’t fancy the message. He had screwed up. Again. He was ashamed of himself.   
“Master Laufeyson woke up ten minutes ago, though Dr Banner is still sleeping. The young Master is being supervised by Mr Barnes and I really insist that you get down there. The young man is already rather distressed and I believe he is in need of some familiar company” Jarvis’ voice was stern and deeply annoyed. You could practically see Thor’s ears prick at the mention of Loki’s apparent distress. It wasn’t that surprising. First he was attacked by a man that looked like his brother, saved by a green, rage monster, woke up with a strange man and probably thought he’d been kidnapped. He would of been pretty shaken after that.   
“I-I’m on my way” Thor’s usually commanding voice was shaking ever so slightly and his hands were trembling at the mere thought that perhaps probability that he might of been getting the opportunity to do over the craziness-inducing screw up in the time space continuum that was Loki’s childhood. Well, chances are he wasn’t thinking that. It was fairly obvious that what was going through his head at that moment was a long, creative and thought provoking string of profanities. He stomped theatrically towards the elevator and Tony wandered vaguely after him, more curious about the possibility of entertainment than actual moral support. Steve crept meekly after them both, despite the glares. If he was being honest with himself, which chances are he wasn’t, he really just wanted to see if the boy was okay.   
When they entered the kitchen Loki was sitting in Bucky’s arms, thumb in his mouth, his other hand holding onto the man’s shirt. Bucky’s human arm was tucked under Loki’s bottom while he stood at the stove, flipping over frying eggs. They both turned at the arrival of the three. Bucky’s eyes clicked from figure to figure, checking for threat, like the good solider he was, but Loki’s wide eyes focused only on Thor. Everyone was sure that he was relieving those few second when he had only just become little and Thor coming from nowhere, older and swinging his hammer. Fear flashed briefly across his face and everyone held there breath. He stared wide eyed at Thor and then he crumpled. He threw himself out of the man with the metal arm’s arms as if he was trying to fly across the room to the man he was perfectly sure was his older brother.   
Thor rushed forward at an inhuman speed and embraced the child in mid air.   
“Thor!” the boy clung desperately to Thor’s armour, tears streaming down his face, from relief or distress it was hard to say. “I was so scared! And you were so s-scary! And I w-want Papa and Mama!” his words were hiccupped and sobbing as the child clung to Thor’s golden locks, little hands grabbing at his suddenly older, older brother' face and hair.   
“I know, brother. I am so sorry, I am sorry, very sorry. I was confused, I did not mean to frighten you” Thor pressed tender kisses to the sides of little Loki’s face and the boy kissed him back, seemingly delighted with his brother, though still knee deep in panic. “I truly am sorry, my halfling. I will do what I can to get you back to Papa and Mama” Thor held the child tenderly, as if he was afraid he would break.   
“The shapeshifter promised” the boy muttered from under Thor’s chin.   
“Shapeshifter?” Loki pointed to the sofa where you could just see Bruce’s hair sticking up and his glasses resting on his head. “Ah, so you figured it out? You are so very, very clever” Thor planted another kiss on Loki’s forehead, and the boy, for the first time since his transformation, looked at peace. 

Fifteen minutes later Loki was happily devouring a piece of toast with a fried egg on it, sitting on Thor’s knee at the dining table and talking readily with the shapeshifter who had awoken minutes before. Bruce was patiently explaining that Bucky was not in fact simply an half armoured man, but actually that he arm was pure metal. Bucky smiled throughout the conversation.   
Steve and Tony had slunk off a little after they had gotten what they wished. Steve for the most part was just happy that the boy was okay. He walked silently beside the Man of Iron, going over the possible options. He felt like offering to walk a little old lady across the road just to redeem himself. He never thought he would crave Loki’s, of all people’s, forgiveness. It was just strange.   
“Maybe we could tell the media?” Tony babbled insistently. “We could say that the kid’s Brucey’s adopted boy and that Thor and Bucky are godfather. That would probably shout us some publicity” As always he was passionately lamenting the perks of media corruption, though Steve was barely listening. He was worried. He knew for a fact that nobody in this whole goddamned building knew how to look after a five year old. The kid didn’t even have clothes, not to mention the cosmic powers and the ice cold skin and the blueness. He could just see the media soaking up the adoption of a five year old super criminal by the protectors of earth. He could just see it going well.   
“Be quiet Tony. We have bigger problems than whether the media likes us. Do you know what to do with a child who keeps asking for the papa we can’t get him back to?” Almost immediately the man beside him stopped in his tracks, his mouth slightly. Steve paused as well, looking back at his friend   
“Oh my god, you're right” His face morphed in to horror. Steve raised an eyebrow, partially in amusement, partially in surprise, partially in curiosity. “We’re going to have to tell him. We’re going to have to tell a five year old boy that he killed thousands of people, tried to kill his brother on numerous occasions. And his mother. His mother’s dead, how are we going to tell a kid that the mother he adores is dead and his father hates him?” Tony clung suddenly to Steve’s collar, as if he was trying to tug him up from the floor. His face was as panicked Loki had previously been.   
"T-Tony! Calm down, there's no need to get that worked up" Steve held up his hands as if he was preparing to surrender himself to the raving mad man before him.   
"No need to get worked up?! Of course there is! How are we meant to care for an already emotionally unstable five year old?!" Tony's voice was shrill and Steve wondered if he had, in fact, lost his mind.   
"Tony, just calm down! He's a five year old, for god sake! We can do this" his words rang out in desperation through the corridor and Tony smirked, his face no longer panicked.   
"You sucker and now you have nothing to worry about." He walked away a few steps, but then paused and looked over his shoulder with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "you said it yourself, he's just a five year old from another realm. What could go wrong?" then he walked away, leaving Steve to realise that he had not only been tricked, but he has also assured himself that perhaps this situation isn't as totally and utterly screwed up as they first presumed.   
He chuckled to himself.  
"Well…" he said quietly. "Well, shit"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuteness bitches!

When he awoke a again the word was blue. Dim and dark and warm. He glanced down at his hand and saw it pink. He wondered if he should be worried. He didn't think so. He'd think about it later. Tiredly he sat up, green eyes gazing hazily around his surroundings. All he could remember was the talking box and big Thor and the shapeshifter and the man with the metal arm and sleep. Suddenly and dizzy, his memory just dropped off into sleep. Snuggled into the shapeshifter's side was the last thing he remembered. But when he woke up the man with the metal arm was carrying him. He could feel the steel against his back and the steady beating of a heart next to his ear. He was so warm and so safe. He looked up a he man. Green eyes glowing sleepily. The man with the metal arm looked down at him an smiled. He smiled back and reached out, taking hold of dark brown locks like he did with mother. Then he buried himself back into a shirt and curled up. He felt safe and sleepy and therefore he would sleep. 

When he awoke for a second time he was alone and it was dark. Something that felt like moonlight was streaming down from a window in the corner and the room was cast in a eery bluish white light. The bed was large and fluffy, almost as large as mama and papa's bed in their chambers. He was covered in thick, heavy blankets and his body steamed underneath them. He was too hot, far too hot. For as long as he could remember he had disliked the heat with a passion. During the hot Asgardian summers he would slink down into the deepest, coolest parts of the castle and refuse to come out in fear of burning and now, even in this strange place, he was too hot. He wondered how the Midgardians slept with all this installation he would never know.   
Eyes blinking open and legs kicking furiously he managed to flip the blankets off himself, leaving him slightly less hot and panting.   
He wanted to go home, he wanted to go home where he could take midnight baths when he got too hot, where he could go climb into bed with mama and papa when he was upset. The Midgardians were nice, but half of them were terrifying. The shape shifter was the only one he would take home. At least he and the green one had protected him from the beginning. He just wanted to feel safe.   
Without thought he lowered himself to the floor, tears already welling in his eyes. He needed to stop crying, he had to be strong. He had to be strong for papa, he had to go back, he wanted to go back.   
But he didn't know how.   
He rubbed angrily at his eyes, disappointed in his own inability to keep his eyes dry. As quietly as he could he pottered on short legs away from the bed, eyes twitching nervously from end to end, taking in all that the room had to give. The room was bare and impersonal, there were no pictures on the walls, no ornaments or collections. Just a bed with too many pillows and blankets, a vanity in the corner, a closet and a desk of draws. The soft carpet fibres sneaked in between his toes and the moonlight from the corner made his hair shine.  
A thought struck him as he reached for the door handle.  
"House?" He whispered tentatively, feeling silly. He assured himself it was just the same as talking to Heimdall.   
"Yes, Master Laufeyson?" The house responded immediately. Loki couldn't understand why the house continued to refer to him as Laufeyson, he was Loki Odinson, not Laufeyson. He had met the king Laufey once, during a peace meeting between he and papa that Loki and Thor had come to. The king of the frost giants had gotten down on one knee in front of him and even then they hadn't been level. Loki had looked up at him with his thumb in his mouth. Odin had been in a meeting all morning and Thor hadn't wanted to explore with him so Loki had wandered off on his own. He had met the king in a corridor and the two had stared at each other for such a long time. Something was so familiar about him. Laufey had smiled at him, but the smile he had been greeted with when the king had introduced himself to he, papa and Thor hadn't been this shaky. The king's crimson eyes had welled with what seemed like tears. He had looked so sad, his jaw quivering just slightly. Loki had looked at him in worry that he had angered the king. Unknowingly he laid his hand on a blue forearm. He didn't notice how similar the king's long dead black was to his own, or how he didn't even think about how he didn't flinch at the coldness of he man's skin, even though it was rumoured that a single touch could kill.   
And then the man had moved.   
Muscled, evening blue arms wrapped around him, pulling him close into the king's chest. He should of felt alarmed, but bedding. He had felt calm, content within these arms. When Laufey had pulled away, holding the boy's thin shoulders his skin matched the king's. He had looked curiously at his hand and traced the slightly rained lines. He had touched his face, feeling other lines there as well and looking up at Laufey, grinning with delight. It made since. He hated the summer, he always over heated so easily and favoured the cold. He was a frost giant. Laufey had looked at him in something akin to relief, but then someone had yelled out his name a few corridors past. Loki had wanted to go see who it was so that they could take him to father and he could show him his new discovery, but the king had grabbed his forearm and suddenly he was being dragged along on the corridor. Apparently Laufey had found his stumbling insufficient so he leant down and Loki was swept up. As they had stormed down the corridors Laufey had told him of how he must never ever tell anyone of his blue skin. Not his mama, not his papa, not Thor, not anyone. Loki had struggled to keep up, but he still savoured every word the man said. When they came to the outside of the door where he and Thor had been told to wait the king had out him down and held his cheeks.   
"Remember what I told you, my boy. Tell no one" then he had kissed the boy's cool forehead and the blueness had receded back into his skin. Then he left, his cloak floating behind him.   
That was the first time he turned blue. Sometimes when he was really mad it would come out, but he never let anyone see. He would run until it went away, even if that meant hiding for hours.   
"Can you open the door?" He whispered to the house in hope that the door would just swing open, he could already tell that it was locked.   
"Certainly sir" the house responded. Loki had never encountered an entity like the house. Sometimes he would be able to hear his mother's voice inside his head when he wandered too far away from home, but this voice, this voice was part of the house, coming from nowhere and belonging to no one.   
It was strange. Almost scary, but the voice was so friendly. He doubted anything that sounded so friendly could harm him. Then again mama always told him not to trust those who sounded so tempting. Still he didn’t think that a voice in the celling wished him any true harm. Though he was still wary of the Midgardians   
He watched in delight as the door swung open and he crept out into a light corridor. For a moment the lightness burnt his eyes, but as soon as his sensitive irises adjusted he was off. Darting down the corridor, feeling too exposed and too nostalgic to be loitering in some open place. He wanted to explore, he wanted to get his bearings, he would do what he wanted. His papa always told him that he should never let anyone say what he could and could not do. Not because he was a royal prince, but because nobody deserved his respect and obedience unless they did something to earn it. Until someone managed to do that he would do exactly as he wished… because papa… because papa told him to.   
The corridors were long and riddled with locked doors like the palace. Everything was made of steel, it was all cold and lifeless. Sometimes the house would ask if he needed anything and he would say no and the house voice would disappear again. After a while he came to a found a large room with a few sofas, an even softer floor and mortals sitting in it. He recognised the shapeshifter and big Thor. There was also the man that sort of looked like papa with his weirdly shaped beard and the tall, scary man and the man with the metal arm. He crouched down low so that they couldn’t see him and tried to listen. Somewhere in their hushed, serious voices he heard his name, though he didn't hear anything else. Something about fury or a… a shield. That didn’t seem to make any sense. Sometimes papa had conversations with people that made no sense, but mama always assured him that it just didn't make any sense to him. He could of done with some reassurance at this point. Thor looked so big among the tiny furniture   
Turning his frenzied mind away from them and his inability to figure out what they were talking about he slunk along the wall, small feet making no sound as they hopped from floorboard to floorboard like a dancer from the markets. Nobody saw him. Nobody saw through his charm, the veil of invisibility cast over his form, even his shadow. When his mama had asked him why he would want to learn an invisibility he had had to explaining great detail that sweet buns from the kitchen weren’t going to steal themselves. Without hesitation he headed toward the door to the balcony he could just see. Open air was what he craved. Open air was safe.   
Somehow he managed to convince the door to open without a sound and he slipped out all the while keeping one eyes fixed on the small party of talking adults. The cool night air caressed his face like an old, welcoming friend. It brushed up his nose and lifted his hair off his neck. The night sweats he had awoken with cooled on his skin. He let the veil sink to the floor to feel the full exposure to the coolness. He ran to the edge of the balcony. Excitedly he stood up on the rail and leaned over, feeling the wind on his face and staring down at the streets. Midgard had changed so much since he had last been here. It was so beautiful, all of the stars and the shining lights. A city. So beautiful.   
Suddenly someone yanked him back, arms around his waist. He looked up, toes still clinging to the shining rail, hands covering arms around his scrawny middle. He blinked, wide eyes at the squarish face that frowned down at him.   
“You don’t want to be doing that squirt” The voice was gruff and familiar, but not entirely hostile. Just growly.   
“Oh” he responded quietly. The boy let himself be put to the ground while he wondered what a squirt was.   
“I thought you were asleep, kiddo. What are you doing out here?” They stood together in the night, he and the man with the bow and arrow.   
“Got too hot” he answered blankly, still staring in fascination at the man that was presumably an archer like of home. The archer looked up, where the building continued upwards.   
“You want to go higher, squirt?” Loki continued to stare, but still trotted after the archer went and stood in front of one of the walls of the building. The party inside still hadn't noticed them. They were still deeply immersed in a very serious conversation concerning something about fury and shields. The archer looked down at him. “Well?”   
Loki tried to shrug nonchalantly and nodded.   
Immediately the archer grabbed a hook hanging from his belt. In moments Loki was laughing from the very top of the building. Eyes bright and staring out onto the horizon where the Midgardian sun was just beginning to rise on the water. His feet sat on the top rail of the roof, the archer hanging tightly onto his hips so that he wouldn't fall. The wind was violent and filled with life giving abandon up here. It was all graceless and bright.   
After Loki had tired of leaning into the expanse of air the archer and he sat on the edge of the building with their elbows hooked over the rail, the archer holding tightly onto the back of his collar incase he slipped. They watched the sun rise and Loki wondered if perhaps this place, these people, this experience, wasn't so bad after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand

It was decided in the early morning of the second day of Loki’s smallness, in a very official way, that despite talking about it extensively, they still didn’t really know what to do. 

Steve wanted to send the boy back to Odin, mostly just so that he could stop feeling guilty, but Thor had dismissed this instantly, claiming that Odin would either just kill the child or imprison him, and apparently Asgardian prisons were not to be envied. Tony wanted to put him into foster care and attempt to care for him as a human, mostly in hope of stopping Loki going completely and utterly mad. Thor just wanted someone to take care of the boy, preferably someone who wasn’t him, this was due to a serious lack of self-esteem in the kid department, or his father. Bruce and Bucky gave no opinions except that he needed some about clothes and probably a toothbrush. Natasha on the other hand wanted nothing to do with any of it, at all, ever, and nobody actually knew what Clint thought because he had disappeared a few hours before. 

It was about eight o’clock in the morning and the sun was blaring in through the pent house windows due to the fact that Tony could not be bothered to tell Jarvis to close the blinds. He wondered blearily in the silence where Pepper was. They were all lounging on the sofas thinking about why they hadn’t slept and really whether they should just call it a day and give up on life. 

“Sir?” 

Jarvis, that was Jarvis. 

“Yo.” Tony didn’t even really move his lips to say that, he just stared at the celling and knitted his eyebrows together. 

“Mr Barton and Master Laufeyson have found themselves stuck up on the roof and are requesting that someone go up and get them down.” None of them knew how the computer did it, but he managed to sound seriously exasperated by his own statement. 

“What?” At least three of them commanded, thinking that they must of misheard the previous statement. 

They could almost hear Jarvis sigh at the question. 

“Mr Barton and Master Laufeyson have fou-”

“Yes, we know. How did they get up there?” Tony demanded, not being one of the people who had asked what and becoming ever so slightly annoyed by his creation’s literal nature. 

“Master Laufeyson got to hot underneath his sheets and went out to explore, he went out onto the balcony to your left while you were all conversing, upon which Mr Barton took them both up onto the roof in order to “play”, I believe.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but Bruce eyed the speaker in a concerned sort of way. 

“Are they alright?” Bruce asked. Probably talking more about Loki than Barton. There were always helicopters hanging about Stark Tower, mostly news groups, always in hope of catching looks into celebrity lifestyle. If they just randomly saw this little blue kid on the roof, they would all, especially Loki himself, be screwed. Mostly due to Fury’s lack of a parental instinct.

“They are mostly fine, though Master Laufeyson is reporting that he is cold and hungry and would really like some undergarments.” 

Bruce stood from his sofa, which also had Bucky on it with him who was beginning to softly snore, and Tony stood from his chair, running his hands through his hair and over his face, as if he was try to rub away his skin. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell them we’re coming. And stop calling him “Master Laufeyson”, he’s just Loki.” 

Tony began to go swiftly towards the door, Bruce stumbling after him in hope of something happening and getting Loki down from the roof. He feared what Fury would do should Loki be discovered. He wouldn’t like to think about that, especially for a five year old kid. 

“I shall not,” Jarvis replied as soon as they got out into the hallway. 

“Well, why not?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for Jarvis to refuse to do things; things like turn the electricity back on in his lab when it was very late at night, or refusing to call for more alcohol when things got out of hand, this on the other hand seemed kind of petty. 

“Master Laufeyson has told me that he likes it, and I wouldn’t want to deny him any more pleasures than I have to.” 

Tony shook his head in disbelief and Bruce smirked up at the ceiling as if to say that he approved. 

It only took a few minutes for them to get to the room, mostly due to Tony’s newly installed high speed elevators. He was very proud of them. 

When they got tot the roof they found Clint and the boy huddled outside the door, looking like they sort of regretted their decision. 

…

It was the Shapeshifter and the man that looked like papa that came and got the Archer and him from the roof, just as the house had told them. As much as he had liked being up on the roof and watching what he could only assume was a sun rise he was cold now, and hungry and he wanted to be wearing more than just a man’s shirt. The Archer had given him his jacket and he forced it further around himself, staring up at the sky for a few moments before deciding that it would probably be best to go back inside and find out if the mortals knew what breakfast was. 

The Archer gathered him along towards the elevator, trying half-assedly to compensate for his far shorter legs as they stumbled along. As soon as he came within a few meters of the box thing the Shapeshifter scuttled out from inside of it, scooped him up and scuttled back inside, casting worried glances up at the sky. Loki looked at him as if he wasn’t thinking straight. The Shapeshifter looked tired so Loki patted his head and stuck his thumb into his mouth, deciding to be sympathetic instead of confused.

The man that looked like Papa also looked tired. He wasn’t surprised, considering all the talking they had done about being angry and shields. The man that looked like papa smiled at him and he smiled back, not taking his pink thumb out of his mouth. He wondered where big Thor and the man with the metal arm were. Presumably sleeping, he could only guess. He would’ve been asleep if he were them. He wondered when he was going to go back to papa. 

He had spent nights away from the palace and his parents before, but he usually had Thor and it usually didn’t last for more than two days. He wanted to go home now. And he wasn’t allowed to stay with strangers. 

Maybe he had been stolen. 

The man that looked like Papa was talking to the Archer who clearly wasn’t listening, reprimanding him about something. Again with the fury and shields. The Shapeshifter was staring vaguely at the wall while the steel box move downwards, but Loki didn’t know what he was looking at. The wall wasn’t that interesting. 

He was hungry. 

He decided instead of mentioning it like he normally would to just lean his head against the Shapeshifter’s collarbone until the man with the metal arm materialized to make him egg on toast. 

By the time that they got down to the circle room where he had seen then talking before about fury and shields most of the people who lived with them had left. Big Thor was gone and so was the scary man and the red-haired woman, but the man with the metal arm was sleeping on one of the sofas, or at least he appeared to be sleeping from where Loki was. The Shapeshifter popped him down as soon the man that looked like papa started heading to what he could only guess was a bar. The Archer had wandered off at some point. 

Loki skipped and stumbled over to the sofa where the man it the metal arm was sleeping. He was still wearing the archer’s jacket and it was far longer than his legs, making him slip over, over and over again. He resisted the urge to fall flat on his face upon reaching the sofa, but instead he managed to just slip to his knees. For a few seconds he just stared, trying to wake the man with the metal arm just with the power of his glare. 

After a few minutes it didn’t work so he decided instead to just poke him in the face until he woke. With Thor he would be there for at least fifteen minutes poking his face because Loki was fairly sure that Thor could sleep through ten thunderstorms packed on top of each other, so he had just assumed it was that way with everybody. 

Apparently it wasn’t.

As soon as his fingertip landed on the man’s face his metal arm was flung out from under him and his eyes were wide and deadly. Gripped in the fist of the metal arm was a small though deadly knife and it was coming fast at him. Time seemed to stand still as the knife came at him and his thin form. He heard the Shapeshifter yell from somewhere and the sound of something glass hitting the floor and shattering and a small, tiny breath escaped him. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t as scared as he had been before, or maybe it was that he could tell that the man with the metal arm was more afraid of him than he was of the man, but almost instantly magic sparked at his fingers and before the knife could pierce his skin a green field stopped him leaving the knife to just clatter to the ground. 

It felt like the whole room froze and they were staring at him. He didn’t see what the whole issue was. What did they expect? That he was going to let himself get stabbed. He didn’t see what the big deal was. Before any of them could say anything about what had just transpired the man that looked like papa came out from behind his bar and hit the man with the metal arm in the chest very, very hard. He also pushed Loki roughly behind his legs as if to protect him. Loki didn’t know why he needed protecting; the man with the metal arm had just been scared; it wasn’t that big of a deal. 

“What the hell was that, Bucky?” The man that looked like papa hissed through his teeth, “You could’ve killed him!” The man with the metal arm was breathing harshly and his eyes were wide and flickering between the boy and the man. Loki peered out from behind him and grinned. The man with the metal arm looked at him confused, but before Loki could demand food the man that looked like papa spun around as he had a startling realization. He bent and lifted up Loki to his height by his shoulders with his legs just dangling in the air. 

“And you! Holy Joseph, Mary, Jesus and the camel, how did you do that??”  
Loki just stared at him as if he was mad, and after a few seconds of just staring each other the Shapeshifter came and got him and put him back on the floor. He immediately went back over to the man with the metal arm while the Shapeshifter reprimanded the man that looked like papa. 

“Make me food,” he demanded. The man looked at him for a few seconds before nodding and walking over to what he had initially thought to be a bar. 

“Sure kid.” The real arm patted his head and held onto his shoulder as if the man who was attached to it needed to keep him close. “Sorry about that, by the way.” 

Loki wasn’t really paying attention. 

“It’s okay,” he said, looking out one of the windows vaguely, “your brain just forgot it was inside your head and panicked, brains do that sometimes.” 

He didn’t see the smile that the man with the metal arm got just then, but if he had he would’ve wanted to cry at the sight of the soft joy within it.


	5. Chapter 5

The boy walked between them, swinging on the hands in his as if he was going to try and fling himself from between them. His arms were raised in compensation for their length and the height of the men he walked with, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. The first man looked like he had just escaped from prison, all long tangled hair and deep-set eyes; there was something about him that just growled, but his boy looked at him like he was the greatest person he had ever seen. The other man was at least a little more presentable, or at least he tried to be. His hair wasn’t combed, but anyone who looked at him could tell that it wasn’t usually that way. He wore a paid shirt underneath a forgotten lab coat where as the first man wore a hoody. He walked as though he had just woken up in the clothes he wore and his glasses sat on his nose, askew, but still useful.

They were kind of weird. 

Walking along the way they were, the way that the first man glared, and the second man cast worried glances at the sky and the boy babbled. The boy was perhaps the strangest bit in the whole ensemble. Not that he would have been weird if two loving parents had accompanied him; he would of looked perfectly normal. He, at least, looked like a normal kid, his hair was dark, really dark, and his eyes were a delighting shade of green and he wore an iron man t-shirt and shorts that if you just looked close enough were just pants with the legs cut off with nail scissors. He wore gas station shoes, but some how still managed to walk like the world was a good place to be. It was his normalcy that made him weird in the situation. Him and his two men. They were like three different worlds smooshed together. 

Loki was a good learner, they learnt on that trip. He adapted easily to his surroundings, even though he remained deeply distrustful of everything and everyone that wasn’t either Bucky or Bruce. He asked an endless course of questions to each of them, depending on what the theme was. He would ask Bucky all the people questions and he would ask Bruce all the environment questions. Like he would ask Bucky why that woman’s skirt was so short, they had very long skirts in Asgard, and Bucky would answer that she just wanted to and it made he feel good, where as Bruce just blushed because he didn’t like looking at women in fear of offending them. 

It was a good system. 

They were going to the supermall down the road from Stark Tower. Tony had offered to drive them there, but Bruce had said no. At first it was only because he was conditioned after a few months of being his lab partner to say no to anything Tony offered him, but then again because he thought it would be good for the boy to see the city that he would be staying in until they figured out what to do with him. 

Looking disgruntled and a little offended Tony had instead just handed over one of his shiny, gold cards to little Loki and said to just buy whatever. Bruce had sensed that Loki didn’t really understand what he was supposed to do with a shiny, gold card, but he was very enthusiastic about it anyway. Tony had ruffled his hair and they had gone on their way.

The mall itself was big and… filled with people. 

They moved around blankly, holding boxes to their ears and holding them in their hands and it was all very loud. Bruce lead them though the crowd towards a department store where hopefully they would be able to get some clothes for Loki, because already people were giving him odd looks. Bucky and the boy followed him hurriedly, clinging to each other and looking slightly threatened, but also kind of curious. 

The department store they went into was huge, of course it was huge, and Loki fucking loved it. And it was filled with clothes and brightly colored things and almost immediately he bolted into one of the racks that held the clothes, ducking under it, to hide from his men and feel the soft fabrics on his face. The man with the metal arm reached under the rack and pulled him back out, hands on his waist the way that Loki knew he would. 

The Shapeshifter tugged them around the store putting pieces fabric into the man with the metal arm’s arms and kept asking him if he liked things. He did, most of the time, but he didn’t know why it was important. He already had clothes; he didn’t need more, if they would only take him home he could get his clothes and bring them back.

But the Shapeshifter picked out these shoes that lit up when he ran so he decided not to mention it. 

…

The Shapeshifter had disappeared; Loki didn’t know where he had gone. 

He hoped it was to go get food. 

He was tired. 

And his feet hurt. 

And he was tired. 

He’d already said that, but he thought it was worth mentioning twice.

And the man with the metal arm was buying things in the store and wasn’t carrying him and he was feeling very hard done by. He watched the cars drive by from his bench and counted the red ones, because that was what the man with the metal arm had told him to do. Almost immediately he became bored. He would of just played with magic until the man with the metal arm came back but he had promised the Shapeshifter that he wouldn’t and he was forbidden to turn blue so he just stared out at the street and planned his revenge. 

A few people went by in the street, and a few of them offered him smiles, but mostly they just walked on in silence with their flashing boxes and their bitter smelling cups. 

“Boy,” someone hissed, “boy, come ‘ere.” He looked around for the voice that he couldn’t place. He sat on a bench on the path next to a busy-looking road a few blocks from the place that the Shapeshifter called the “mall” and another few blocks from the man who looked like papa’s tower. He could just see it rising above the other buildings like a lighthouse. He wanted to know if he could just walk, it was so tall, he was sure that he would be able to navigate the buildings. 

But now there was a voice and he liked voices, voices talked and talking was more interesting than the red cars so he looked around desperately in hope of finding the owner, maybe the owner would give him something to eat. 

“Boy,” the voice repeated and this time he was able to pinpoint it. It came from a dirty looking man huddled at the mouth of an alley between the building that the man with the metal arm was in and the next one. He still hungry, if anyone wanted to know. His eyes were like piercing rays of light, and around them smudges of dirt. He had rags wrapped around him and his features were questioning, but Loki didn’t know what he was questioning and he didn’t know if he cared. 

Loki had seen men like him before, they were on the streets, and they were always hungry, like he was. Whenever they went walking he would want to give them his things, he had enough things, he didn’t need all of them and they always looked so pleased when he tried to approach them. But Thor always said he couldn’t give them anything, to even go near them, though he never said why, he just shooed Loki on and away and Loki had to watch the pleasure and hope fade from the eyes of the dirty men. 

He looked around to see if the Shapeshifter or the man with the metal arm was around, maybe now he would be able give something. Quickly he trotted over to the dirty man and his rags, before crouching down a few feet in front of him and looking at him with wide green eyes. 

“Yes?” he asked. “Do you need money?” He didn’t know whether he was being forthright or not, but it seemed like a fact worth knowing. 

He smiled a broken smile at him; all crooked teeth and cracked lips and nodded. 

“If you could be so kind.” 

Loki knew what that meant, that meant yes, but for some reason it wasn’t just yes. Slowly Loki inched closer until he was kneeling in front of the dirty man and digging through his pockets. The man with the metal arm had given him a few of the shiny coins so that he could by an ice-cream while he was in the store, but he didn’t know where the store was so he had just sat down on the bench and waited for him to come back out. He held out the sweaty coins to the man. 

Instead of taking them the dirty man’s eyes changed. They changed from humble to terrified. The dirty man reached out and roughly grabbed the boy’s offering hands, pulling Loki towards him. 

“Run, boy, please run,” he hissed and suddenly he was being picked up. Not the way that the Shapeshifter or the man with the metal arm or the man that looked like papa picked him up. He was picked up like he was a sack of bones; not a person. He screamed in terror as he was dragged kicking into the alley where no one could see him, but a hand clamped over his mouth and he heard angry muttering in his ears. Papa always said this would happen, mama warned him of this and he hadn’t listened. 

He struggled relentlessly within bigger arms and felt blue shimmering over his skin, but then his head was thrown against the wall of the alley and his lungs were emptied of their breath. The pain was unimaginable, but he couldn’t fine the air to scream and he was going to die. He could feel warm liquid slipping down his forehead and his breath was getting caught in his throat and he couldn’t breath. Tears streamed down his face and suddenly he was no longer suspended above the ground. He hit the concrete with a force, but could only manage to curl himself into a tight ball and try not to cough up blood as kicks whammed into his chest. He sobbed into his arms. 

And then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

On the edge of consciousness he opened his eyes to see what was going on. That man… the man… papa… the man that looked like papa, but wasn’t. The man who looked like papa was holding him; he was holding him so tenderly. 

He could feel to warmth of another being against his back and he stretched up for it. Not wanting much, just to feel like he was safe. 

…

He was moving, he was moving forwards. 

Up and down, up and down, up and down, he was being carried and the thing that was carrying him was moving forwards. Walking, the thing was walking and from somewhere outside his mind he could hear a frantic heartbeat. 

The man who looked like papa. 

His shoulders began to shake as he remembered what had happened to him and he began to feel the pain that ravaged his body. 

He felt so weak.

…

Tony could tell that the boy was awake and he hoped that he would just go back to sleep. Tony could feel him shaking in his arms again and he was weeping as quietly as he could, he could feel small arms wrapped around his neck like he was the only lifeline the boy had. Loki was wearing Bucky’s hoodie, though he didn’t know where Bucky was, and Tony had pulled up the hood over his face so that passers by in the street wouldn’t see the blue and tried to cover the boy’s battered legs with his arms. 

Already people were giving them weird looks, him and his boy. He wasn’t exactly a subtle presence and nobody, especially him, ever thought that he would go around carrying child. People were trying to approach him to ask him if he was alright, but he walked fast, he could risk this getting to Fury, he couldn’t risk it anyone getting involved. 

He couldn’t risk anything. 

He didn’t really know what had happened, just that he had found Loki with a man hovering over him, beaten and bloody, and the man had blood on his boot. Tony had seen red and he had screamed at the man some threat that he couldn’t remember and jumped out with his panicked fists. He had felt his blood boiling in his veins and had been unable to do anything, but run at the man in rage and once he had ran he could only think to hold the boy protectively and watch the blood seep onto the hoodie he wore. 

He didn’t really know what the injuries really were, just that they were bad and they made him angry. He had to get back to his tower; he had to get the boy to safety, because this was not safe. He could see his tower rising out of the jungle of buildings so he trotted towards it and attempted to conceal the panic in his face. As far are he was concerned everyone was a threat, everyone wanted to take his boy and stop him from getting home. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” he muttered to the weeping, wounded boy. Patting his back as best he could, trying to be comforting when really he was fairly certain he was going to throw up. 

He was almost running now. 

Somehow he managed to dart in his own door, pulling the hood further over the boy’s face to hide it from the photographers staked out in front the tower for him or one of the others. He ran through the lobby, straight past the front desk, only briefly stopping to flash his badge to the young lady, before running on to the elevator. The doors closed behind him and he pressed the direct button to the penthouse, he would not have anyone getting in with him.   
As the doors closed his legs suddenly felt so weak, stumbling back his spine hit the steel wall and he slid to the floor with the boy tucked under his arms in his lap. As gently as he could he slipped off the boy’s hood so that he could see his face. The wound on his head was beginning to bruise and grow with swelling and the scratched on his cheeks were still leaking blood down the side of his face. 

And with the look in Loki’s eyes, Tony found it hard to breath.


End file.
